


107 Degrees

by MermaidMelo



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies RPF, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Dirty Sex, Dirty Talk, Drinking, Embarrassment, Eventual Sex, Hair Kink, Hand Jobs, Hand Kink, Hiddlesworth, Kink, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Music, Rating: NC17, Sex, Shower Sex, Smut, WIP, Work In Progress, fappage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-17
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-16 12:18:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MermaidMelo/pseuds/MermaidMelo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris decides to visit a low-key bar for a drink and gets more than he bargained for in the attractive bartender, Tom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Maker's Mark Manhattan

**Author's Note:**

> So I was suddenly inspired by a visit to my local haunt, and somehow envisioned Tom Hiddleston as a sexy, unassuming bartender, and Chris Hemsworth as a new patron. There's also this vision of dirty sex in the alley behind the bar. Stay tuned!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Given my affinity for music and alcohol, please enjoy the recipe of my favorite cocktail: http://www.makersmark.com/recipes/85-maker-s-mark-manhattan

The bouncer let him through without carding him. A couple stood on the sidewalk smoking, quietly talking. It was a quiet Sunday night and Chris was grateful he was at a dive bar and not some trendy lounge or club. All he wanted was a drink, a stiff one, and no one to bother him with pointless chatter.  
He remembered an actor buddy mentioning this place before. It was close to the studios, on those rare days when he was able to land a job. Truthfully things had started to look up. Commercial gigs led to a bit part on a soap opera, and the director had asked for another copy of his audition tape.  
Struggling actors were expected to network, which usually meant dropping $10 on a bottle of beer at some overpriced, loud club. Struggling actors’ paychecks and expensive drinks didn’t exactly go hand-in-hand. His buddies told him the bartender here had a heavy pour, and a dollar a drink tip ensured friendly service.  
Mumford and Sons wafted gently through the air as he walked in. The place made a good first impression – comfortable, just dark enough, no pretentious vibe, and good music. He would have to pay a visit to the jukebox after he got a drink. Most of the stools were empty, so he pulled one up near the bartender and waited to order a drink. It was almost 11pm but the place was pretty dead. Sunday nights were still considered the weekend in LA; in many cases it was a preferred night for locals to go out.  
Chris laughed at the notion that he was basically a local now. He’d only been in LA for eight months but was never out of work for very long. The furnished apartment he leased was month-to-month but it was probably a good idea to look for something more permanent. Maybe he should wait for that one year anniversary; he didn’t want to jinx his recent success.  
“Hey, how’s it going, man? What can I get you?”  
The bartender was tall and lithe, an easy smile on his face, and closely cropped light brown hair. He was dressed in the bartender uniform – black v-neck and black jeans, which Chris couldn’t help but notice were extremely well-fitted. The only accents to the outfit were a belt with a rather large Union Jack buckle, a seeming tribute to his British heritage, and the lower edge of an arm tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve. Chris swallowed hard.  
“Oh, hey man, how’re you? Let’s see… Wow, you guys have quite a whiskey collection. What do you recommend?”  
Chris couldn’t imagine this to be the type of place that would gouge him. He decided to take a chance and ask the bartender for his pick.  
“A whiskey man, very nice… Well, let me start by asking if you’d like it neat, on the rocks, or mixed.”  
The easy smile never left his face as he walked closer to Chris to wipe down the bar and collect the discarded napkins.  
“Well I should probably take it easy. I do have a somewhat early call tomorrow. What’s your preferred mixed whiskey drink?”  
“I would suggest a Manhattan, though that's technically bourbon, so…”  
“Wow, someone who not only can make, but suggests a Manhattan. How could I refuse?”  
The bartender left to prepare the cocktail. Chris’ eyes couldn’t help but trail from his head to his ass, so nicely on display in those jeans. He turned his gaze, suddenly embarrassed and surveyed the rest of the bar. The crack of billiard cues on balls made him consider a game, though he’d have to ask strangers if he felt like joining in. He wondered if the bartender played. He wondered how his bare ass would feel on the felt of the pool table with the bartender on top of him. He shook his head, surprised at how quickly the bartender had become part of his thoughts.  
It was easy to score as a low-rung member of the commercial and soap opera acting circuit. Single-day jobs meant meeting a lot of people and getting a lot of numbers. These led to one-off dinners, or an afternoon of coffee, an occasional late night for drinks at some hotel bar, and then sex. Almost always. Sex was practically part of networking these days. A good romp in the sack and he’d walk away with a director’s phone number or the inside information to a casting call.  
So it wasn’t a dry spell that had him thinking about the bartender. It was the bartender himself, something about that easy smile and those long legs that just had Chris completely intrigued, as he set the cold cocktail glass on a napkin in front of Chris. An older song, something from The Rolling Stones, started on the jukebox.  
“There you are my friend, a Maker’s Mark Manhattan. Please enjoy.”  
Chris handed him his credit card.  
“Shall I keep the tab open?”  
Chris nodded. Might as well, he wasn’t getting his mind off the bartender anytime soon. He took a sip and it was all hot and cold at the same time. The glass and the bourbon were perfectly chilled and he felt the bourbon trail straight to his stomach and warm his skin.  
The bartender had moved on to another patron, so Chris couldn’t thank him for the perfectly proportioned drink. He decided to try his luck with the jukebox. His blue eyes shone bright in the light of the jukebox as he pressed the buttons to flip through the catalog. Whoever owned this bar had great taste – the available music, the shelves of whiskey, and the gorgeous bartender. He inserted a dollar into the slot, picked three songs and wondered if they would begin playing immediately. He hadn’t seen anyone else approach the jukebox since his arrival.  
“You may be here a while, my friend. I just picked a bunch of music to keep the mood lively.”  
The bartender had emerged from behind the bar to collect some discarded glasses against one wall of the bar.  
“Normally I wouldn’t bother with this but my bar back is gone for the night.”  
He reached for the glasses and empty beer bottles near Chris. Chris felt a heat in his ears as the bartender came up close to him. He couldn’t believe he was this affected by a person so quickly, so suddenly, he wasn’t even remotely drunk. The more the proximity decreased between them, the louder his heart thumped in his ears. He needed to break this tension, he was so afraid his every thought and emotion was becoming so obvious to the bartender.  
“So, uh, how long have you been doing this?”  
Wow, that was a stupid question, but at least the words didn’t stick to his palate as he’d expected.  
“Clearing glasses, or tending bar?”  
A beautiful, quiet laugh escaped his gorgeous lips. The bartender created a small tower of empty glasses, wiped down the condensation rings, and went back to the bar. Chris felt so stupid. He was so happy the bar was dark; no one else would have to see his cheeks redden from the embarrassment. He leaned his head against the wall and noticed it was gorgeously textured. He turned and noticed the subtle details – small sconces illuminating the dark red, paisley pattern of the wall, the opposite wall was brown brick, and the small cabinet behind the bar seemed to contain an assortment of collected items. If only he would work up the courage to go back to the bar, he’d inspect the items more closely.  
He stared down at the cherry at the bottom of his glass. How quickly could he finish the drink and get out of this situation? And why was he so embarrassed? What was this inhuman pull the bartender had over him? He saw the bartender come back towards him.  
“Sorry, didn’t mean to walk away. I’m a bit of a butterfingers; a tower of glasses is just me asking for trouble. So, I don’t clear glasses much anymore. I started as a bar back, but I graduated to bartending within a year. It’s amazing how this started as a way to make rent, and somehow it’s become something of a career. I can’t believe I own this place.”  
Chris couldn’t help but smile. As if he weren’t attracted to the man enough, now he discovered that all the things he liked about this bar, he could attribute to him. He had to get out of here before he made a complete fool of himself. He decided to pound his drink and make a quick escape. He’d only have to face the gorgeous bartender one more time, to close his tab.  
He finished his drink, fished out the cherry from the bottom of the glass, and started the walk back to the bar when The Black Keys came on. The bartender had impeccable taste. If only he didn’t feel so embarrassed, he’d stick around.  
“Can I get you another one? “  
“No, I think I gotta pass. I do have that early call tomorrow.”  
“Oh cool, good luck man. I never had any luck as an actor, somehow the bartending stuck. Well if you’re working locally, drop in tomorrow night. Mondays are quiet, but the game's on if you’re interested.”  
Chris smiled as he signed for the drink. The Manhattan only set him back $10. He left $15, the price almost anywhere would charge for the drink without a tip. He was trying hard to save money, but he was still so charmed by the guy, so happy with the perfect drink, he left a big tip. It was too bad he had somehow lost all his courage and wouldn’t be coming back.  
“I should clarify. By game, I mean rugby game. I figured an Aussie like you would be among my few patrons who’d be interested.”  
The bartender would be the end of him. Why was he so uncomfortable around this guy? If he wasn’t so damn attracted to him, he’d want to become best friends with the guy. He tucked his wallet back in his jeans, thanked the bartender and prepared to leave.  
“I hope to see you tomorrow, my friend.”  
“Chris. My name is Chris.”  
“See you tomorrow then Chris. Just ask for Tom.”  
He winked as Chris walked out the bar and into the night.


	2. Brainy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter inspired by "Brainy" by The National: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hty5HjRTb7U&list=AL94UKMTqg-9DEuanNC0wRqtcna1-jE-Km&index=16&feature=plcp

If he considered Sunday dead, tonight was an absolute graveyard. There were four people in the bar, all seated on stools, most sipping Guinness on tap. All were deeply absorbed with the rugby match on the TV, including Tom, who was absentmindedly cracking open a bottle of beer, the cap dropping to the floor unnoticed. There was no one at the door when Chris approached the bar. The bouncer from last night was sitting at the bar, nursing a Guinness.  
“Mr. Manhattan, you came!”  
Tom’s ear-to-ear grin made Chris laugh in spite of himself. He was happy he came. And tonight he was more relaxed, even as he felt that same knotting in his stomach from last night. He’d decided it was ok to have this crush; it would go away soon enough like so many others. Besides, it was hard to find a place in LA that showed rugby, much less people who were interested enough to watch it.  
“Tonight, we drink Guinness, unless you’re like Henry here, for whom nothing but a domestic brew would do.”  
He patted an older man’s shoulder from across the bar and laughed. He was dressed the same as last night, down to the belt buckle, and as Chris sat down, he noticed a light dusting of hair at Tom’s chin and cheeks.  
“Guinness suits me just fine, thanks. What’s the score?”  
He actually was interested. Australia wasn’t playing in tonight’s match, but tonight’s winner would go against his home team.  
Tom set the freshly-poured beer on a napkin in front of Chris and walked back towards the TV to turn up the volume. Chris’ eyes trailed once again to the bartender’s tight butt. Once again thankful that the bar was dark and empty, he smiled to himself. He took his first cold sip and felt the stout coat his tongue as it traveled down. He settled his elbows on the bar and turned his attention to the game.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
By the time Tom set the fourth Guinness in front of Chris, the game was over. England won, and would face Australia next.  
“Looks like we’ll be going head-to-head, eh my friend?”  
Tom patted Chris’ arm and winked. Of course he was talking about rugby, but the three beers in his otherwise-empty stomach had his mind wandering. He noticed Tom walk from behind the bar to the jukebox. Now that the game was over, music was necessary, lest the silence prevail. There was only half a dozen people in the entire bar, and though everyone proved friendly and enthusiastic during the fame, it didn’t seem to Chris that anyone there was really friends with the bartender.  
Tom punched the numbers for certain songs, probably those he knew by heart, and settled back to the bar to clean the emptied glasses of his rugby crew. It was only 11pm, about the time Chris had first come into the bar last night, but it was a workday, and two of the men got up to leave. Chris wasn’t sure how much they’d had to drink, but he overheard Tom ask for $10, far less than they surely owed. Each man put down a $20 despite Tom’s protests, bid goodnight to everyone, including Chris, and took their leave.  
Chris decided this definitely had to be his last beer. Had he been paying attention, he would have told Tom before he started pouring this last one. He didn’t have anything to do tomorrow, but he still had to get himself home. Driving on the right side of the road was sometimes still a challenge, especially with alcohol in his veins. He wasn’t aware that his fingers were tapping against the cold glass, keeping time with the music.  
“You know these guys?”  
Chris looked up to Tom who was leaning his long body against the back of the bar, half-empty bottles of liquor shining in the backlight.  
“What?”  
“I noticed you tapping your fingers to the music. Have you heard this song before?”  
“Uh no, sorry. I guess I was just somewhere else. But I must have liked it, because I do tend to subconsciously keep time to music that I like. My mum always teased me about that.”  
“Well your subconscious has good taste. You’re tapping along to The National. Ever heard of them? They’re based in New York.”  
Chris stopped to listen to the music, the quiet of the bar allowing him to appreciate the drumbeat and even some of the lyrics. He noticed Tom watching him more intently. He felt a flush across his cheeks. He had to stop drinking.  
“Yeah, this is stuff I could definitely get into. I’ll look them up tomorrow. What’s the song we’re listening to now?”  
“It’s called ‘Brainy’, one of my favorite tracks. Let me know what you think. The album mostly gets ignored in the jukebox, but I always pick a few songs when no one else is choosing music. I really like the melancholy in his voice.”  
He walked away to close the tabs of his other patrons. There were only two other people at the bar now; the bouncer had resumed his post just inside the doorway, though he didn’t look like he was expecting anyone else.  
“Monday nights are slow I gather?”  
“Oh yeah, definitely. Most of the time I don’t even open on Mondays, unless there’s a game on. I don’t even have to tell them anymore. The guys just know the place will be open when there’s a weeknight game. I mean, I’m open every other day, but Mondays are usually my weekend. I try to catch up on life on Mondays, mostly sleep really.”  
“So will you be closing after the last person leaves?”  
“Most likely. I don’t advertise being open on Mondays. If someone happens to stroll in, that’s cool. Oh, but don’t misunderstand this for me kicking you out. Take your time Chris; let me know if you’d like another.”  
Chris was surprised the bartender remembered his name. He’d only said it once, as we was leaving the bar last night. He felt the nerves return. He’d relaxed so much during the game; he was starting to feel like Tom would be more of a casual friend. Tom was so easy-going and straightforward with everyone, including Chris. Somehow remembering and using his name brought Chris’ crush back to the top of his thoughts.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Chris was happy he’d left the windows open in his apartment. The pillows and sheets were nice and cool as he climbed into bed, naked except for boxers. He was happy he left the bar when he did, because after the fourth beer, he couldn’t decide if Tom was truly just being a good bartender, or actually plying him with more alcohol. He had asked Chris for $10 to close his tab, and even tried arguing when Chris refused the change for his $20. He wondered how Tom stayed in business, charging his patrons next to nothing for drinks. Maybe he’d ask him about it when he came in after work on Thursday.  
While waiting at red lights in his car on the way home, he texted his friend who’d recommended the bar in the first place, and asked if he’d go with him on Thursday. They would be at a casting call together that afternoon, and he wanted a reason to go back to the bar without walking in alone. He’d normally have no problems going out alone, even if he wasn’t meeting anyone. But three times in a week seemed odd to him. It seemed too obvious. He needed a reason to go out – a chance to hang out with a friend he hadn’t seen in a few weeks was the perfect, casual excuse to drop in at the bar again.  
He checked his phone again before drifting off to sleep. The beer in his system made him incredibly drowsy, but he decided against picking up food on his way home. He liked the way the thoughts of Tom swam with the alcohol in his brain. He liked the way he felt when he thought about Tom, though he figured the feeling would disappear as the alcohol left his system. He decided to hang on to the feeling as long as he could.


	3. Apartment Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris wakes the next morning to find Tom a welcome visitor in his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And our first foray into some smut... The chapter is shorter than what I usually write. Let's see how it plays out... Chapter inspiration: "Apartment Story" by The National: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=orpCX6rL_lk&list=AL94UKMTqg-9DEuanNC0wRqtcna1-jE-Km&index=12&feature=plcp

Usually when he had a little too much to drink, he would wake up unexpectedly early. This morning Chris woke up earlier than usual, but not because of the beer, at least not completely. He’d been dreaming – vividly. He woke to find most of the sheets off the bed, his pillows askew, his hand down his boxers.  
He didn’t wake up startled; in fact he realized he’d slowly been waking, thoughts of Tom quietly creeping in as his hand crept into his shorts. Still half-asleep and only half-aware of his actions, he smiled and allowed the dream to continue.

He could hear Tom’s easy laugh. They were in the back room of the bar, the wall lined with benches and cushions, a part of the bar he’d never seen anyone sit in yet. Half-consumed drinks were on the small table, and there was no space left between his leg and Tom’s. Tom was absentmindedly playing with Chris’ hair. Even in half sleep Chris felt real goose bumps break out on his neck. He loved having his hair played with, and Tom’s long fingers curled themselves perfectly through his golden strands. He felt his cock stir between his legs. He was sure Tom could see it stiffen even in the darkness of the bar. Whether he did or not, Tom’s other hand softly but deliberately landed on Chris’ lap, slowly unbuttoning his jeans and finding his cock. Chris exhaled sharply. Everything else disappeared. Chris was only aware of Tom and his hands, one that continued playing with his hair, the other simply teasing Chris through his boxers, and Tom’s piercing blue-green eyes gazing contently into Chris’.

Chris felt his body relax completely under Tom’s touch. He was gentle but measured as his hand reached in all the way to find Chris’ erect cock. He smiled quietly and took his shaft in his hand, a slow, steady rhythm developing as Chris felt his breath quicken. He couldn’t understand how one person’s touch was driving him so crazy. He was going to come quickly in spite of himself. Tom’s skilled hand played with his tip, pre-come leaking as he rubbed it along his entire shaft, working his fingers to the base, cupping his balls with his velvet touch and repeating. Tom reached forward to kiss Chris; his tongue found Chris’ and picked up the rhythm of his hand. Chris wanted to return the passion so badly, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. He couldn’t lift his body off the bench, he just allowed himself to be touched and kissed, a deep growl leaving his body as he came.  
Even semi-conscious, he was surprised how quickly he came. As his heartbeat slowly steadied, and the final wisps of sleep left him, Chris decided his quick response was just the result of the dream – and not getting laid in two weeks. Either way he realized he didn’t care. After all, it was only a dream, and in the end, his own body knew what it wanted and how to get there. A hand job was usually all about efficiency, a chance to relieve some stress and get on with the day. Introducing Tom into his wet dreams was just an added bonus.

A bit light-headed and sweaty, Chris rose from bed and headed straight to the shower. He was happy to start his day off with thoughts of Tom and thought about the music he’d recommended the night before. With the towel hung low around his hipbones he went to his laptop and looked up The National. He didn’t need to bother to preview their songs; he already knew he liked them from what he heard last night. A few clicks later and he had their most-recent album downloaded and playing. He scrambled some eggs and made coffee to “Apartment Story”, laughing when he realized the irony of the song and his current activities.

He spent the afternoon catching up on domestic life – grocery shopping, laundry, emails – before reading over the lines for tomorrow’s casting call. The soap opera gig could turn into something steady, but until a final contract happened he needed to go to every audition he could get to. Tomorrow’s was for a bit part in a movie; he could really use the exposure. 

He only realized he’d not thought of Tom all day until he got into bed that night. He’d been listening to The National on repeat; some of the lyrics already leaving his lips as he put his head to the cold pillow. He’d be happy to keep Tom in his nighttime thoughts…as long as that’s where he stayed.


	4. Whiskey Sour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris' third night at the bar doesn't go as he planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter inspiration, another classic whiskey cocktail: http://www.esquire.com/drinks/whiskey-sour-drink-recipe

Thursday nights were busy nights out in LA. Many locals preferred going out on Thursdays, especially if it was just to let off some steam or unwind from the week. Chris assumed a fair number of these people worked weekends anyway – those trying to make it in the industry and waited tables or tended bar themselves.

It took Chris nearly 10 minutes to get close enough to the bar to try and catch Tom’s eye. Apparently 11pm on a Thursday was the wrong time to come in. The bouncer was a different person than the guy he’d met. There was no wait, but he insisted on asking for ID before letting Chris and his friend in. Once inside, Chris began to feel uncomfortable. He’d already allowed the first two, quieter nights to become the norm he’d expect at the bar; he didn’t like being surrounded by so many people. He didn’t like the music that was playing, or the fact that there was a second bartender behind the bar. 

When he finally got up to the bar, he was grateful to see Tom turn his head toward him. The recognition made him happy and uneasy all at once. This crush definitely wasn’t going away, and now that Tom was a part of his wet dreams, all he could do was hope that his thoughts didn’t somehow spill out into the open. He turned to his friend to clear his head.

“What’re you having, man?”

“Oh I dunno, a beer I guess. Do they have anything on tap?”

“I know they have Guinness.”

“Ugh, no, never been a fan of Guinness. Do they have anything else?”

Chris couldn’t help but feel less respect for his friend. It was a stupid reason, but he couldn’t help it. At least he had an opening question to get Tom’s attention. Unfortunately the other bartender got to him first. She was pretty, a colored half-sleeve tattoo up one arm, her breasts prominently on display.

“Hi, what can I get you?”

He didn’t want to appear rude, so he went ahead and ordered.

“Uh, my friend would like to know what beers you have on tap, and I guess I’ll have a whiskey sour.”

He wasn’t sure she’d charge him like Tom did, so he went with a cocktail that wouldn’t cost too much – at least he hoped. He paid for the beer and cocktail in cash, leaving behind a good tip, and retreated from the bar so other people could order. He somehow felt lost in the bar. He was quite tall, and could see easily enough over the bar, but he couldn’t get Tom’s attention anymore, and it upset him.

“So how was your audition? I realized we didn’t really get a chance to talk at the casting call.”

“Huh?”

“I was asking about your audition. How did it go?”

“Oh, yeah, the audition. Yeah, yeah, it was good. I think I did alright. Won’t really know for a day or two, I guess. If at all… How about yours?”

It was good to talk to someone. And Paul really was a friend, someone he’d met in the first weeks of moving to LA. He needed to get his mind off Tom, and turn his focus back to people he knew; and back to his attempts at finding work in Hollywood. 

Paul left to buy the next round. The bar was still quite crowded, so Chris remained leaning against the wall near the jukebox, absentmindedly watching people as they approached the machine to pick songs. It was after midnight, and Chris doubted these people would ever hear their songs before last call. The jukebox really did make money for the bar.

He watched Paul return to the bartender and work his charms on her. Bartenders flirt all the time, and she was no novice. Chris watched her laugh and pat Paul’s arm as she poured his beer. He noticed her gaze as she dropped a cherry in Chris’ second whiskey sour. He realized Tom gave him the same looks. Whether he was into men or not, Tom was just pulling the same moves on Chris as any other patron. Chris realized he was upset. He wasn’t happy about how he felt.

Paul left his tab open and returned. He started flipping through the catalog on the jukebox.

“Don’t bother. You’d never get to hear anything you pick. I’ve been watching people pick songs for the last five minutes.”

“Oh, I’m more curious as to the options. There’s some standard bar crap, but whoever stocks this machine has pretty eclectic taste, especially for a bar – Citizen Cope, Muse, Sigur Ros. Can’t imagine anyone would pick that last one, but it’s cool that it’s there.”

They talked through their second round, mostly about Chris’ upcoming stint on the soap opera, and Paul’s second date with a waitress who worked at the same café. 

“Speaking of which, I do have a work shift tomorrow, so I think I’m gonna call it a night. You ready to go?”

Despite his better judgment, Chris wasn’t ready to leave. He kept wanting for Tom to come over and say hello; truly acknowledge his presence in the bar. He knew it made him seem desperate, even if he was the only person aware of that. But he didn’t care. Watching the bartender flirt with his friend in the same way Tom had with him was still upsetting him. He didn’t even know the guy, so why was he so desperate for his attention? His true attention…

“I think I’ll stick around for a last drink. After all, we were so focused on our conversation; I never got a chance to talk to anyone.”

Chris winked. He knew Paul would assume he meant some woman, and that was fine by him.

“Good luck buddy. I’ll go close out.”

The bar had thinned considerably. Smaller groups and couples had retreated to the back room in the bar with the benches and cushions. A larger group was still playing pool. Several bar stools were vacant as Paul made his way to the bar. Chris decided to have a seat and see if Tom would take notice. Paul closed his tab with the female bartender, bid Chris goodnight and left. She turned her attention to Chris.

“Staying behind? Can I get you another whiskey sour?”

“No, but I appreciate you remembering my order. I think I’ll just take a Guinness.”

He could sip the Guinness slowly, possibly even until last call. He was hoping it wouldn’t take that long for Tom to notice him. He was hoping this desperation would dissipate even sooner and he could leave with at least some of his dignity intact. 

But it never happened. Tom never wandered to Chris’ end of the bar, never even seemed to look in his direction. A quarter after 1, Chris decided he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to get out, to get away from Tom. He paid for the beer, thanked the bartender and left. It was much colder outside than the previous nights. He was looking forward to a hot shower and a late morning with nothing to do but regroup. Maybe he’d go for lunch where Paul was working. Paul could easily set him up with someone. He felt he just needed to get laid and get it out of his system; that would probably solve his problems. 

Chris turned the shower on and watched the hot water rain down on the tiles, steam slowly rising up the walls. He climbed in and immediately shampooed his hair. He tried to clean out his brain as he massaged his scalp. And then he thought back to his dream, how Tom was running his long fingers through Chris’ hair. He closed his eyes as the shampoo ran down his head and chest. He reached for the bar of soap on the ledge and felt his grip slip. He was feeling Tom’s warm lips on his, the heat of the shower cocooning his body, as his soapy hands found his cock. 

He leaned against the cold tile, eyes still closed so Tom’s eyes and smile were still vivid. He couldn’t explain his attraction to this man, or figure out why it bothered him so much that Tom had all but ignored him at the bar. But he couldn’t help but like how the thought of Tom naked made him hard and ready. He pulled at his cock, the slick of the soap on his hands easing the process considerably. His legs opened wider as he pictured Tom with him in the shower, wishing it was Tom’s hands around his member and not his own. Better yet, he wanted this thrusting to happen inside Tom. His hands continued up and down his cock, his index finger opening up the tip while his other hand cupped his balls. The image of Tom was so vivid he was coming within minutes.


	5. Closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter inspired by "Closer" from Kings of Leon. Something about that song, especially the beginning, just makes me weak in the knees: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lkGhDHP093M
> 
> So yeah, it's a little longer chapter, but I hope people read through it.

Chris decided he was done with the bar. It was obvious he was genuinely attracted to Tom, and Tom had no interest in him, so he would get over it by not going back there. Two nights of cheap drinks served by a flirtatious bartender were not enough to justify going back again, no matter how good his dreams were getting. He wasn’t sure if he’d dreamed of Tom every night, but he definitely had last night. The evidence in the morning was undeniable. His sheets were a twisted mass, the stick of come in his hand and between his pillows almost made him wish he could remember exactly what he dreamed. It must have been good.

It had been over a week since he’d been to the bar. He almost called to insist on changing the location for his date, but then changed his mind. It might do him some good to go back to the bar with a pretty girl giving him all her attention. It was a Friday night, the bar would surely be crowded; he wouldn’t ever have to see Tom’s face if he didn’t want to.  
When she mentioned the bar, he almost frowned. She was refilling his glass of iced tea, asking if he wanted anything else before getting his check. She was exactly what Chris was looking for; a pretty girl who obviously understood that one date meant just that. 

She knew the bar the same way Chris had been introduced – a recommendation from a friend. She didn’t mention anything about a hot bartender – Chris wondered how Tom could fly under ~anybody’s radar. 

Still, Chris was glad he’d gone to visit Paul at work that day. He didn’t even need to drop any subtle hints – Paul insisted she wait on Chris; the rest took care of itself.  
He picked her up shortly before 10. Her address was conveniently near the bar – hopefully convenient in many respects. As expected, the bar was crowded. The bouncer remembered him; he was the guy from the first few nights. 

“Hey, you missed the game on Tuesday. I thought you’d be coming down.”

Chris didn’t feel like mentioning that Tom hadn’t bothered to find a way to get in touch with him. After that first game, he’d expected Tom to ask for his number so he could get in touch about future games. Chris was hoping it would be a ruse on Tom’s part, just a way to get Chris’ number. Neither had happened. 

Still, Chris walked in with a smile, gently ushering his date to the bar where a single, vacant seat stood just behind the beer taps. He insisted she sit down, asking her what she wanted to drink, as the volume of patrons and music forced Chris to lean in close to hear her. He liked the proximity, how she leaned in to almost whisper her request into his ear. Chris smiled and looked up, and came face-to-face with Tom. He was absurdly radiant, all eyes and smile through what was now almost a full beard. Chris’ heart sank to his stomach.

“It’s very nice to see you again, my friend. I feel it’s been too long.”

He sounded absolutely Shakespearean with his crisp, British accent. He knew a lot of girls were attracted to his Australian accent; he was starting to understand the draw.  
“Hey, Tom, how’s life? Can I get a Ketel tonic with extra lime and, let’s see, I’ll take a Manhattan.”

He couldn’t help it. He was prodding in a sick attempt to see if Tom would recall any of their previous encounters. 

“Of course. A special Maker’s Mark Manhattan, coming up.”

He winked. Chris nearly blushed. He turned his attention back to his date. She was all smiles, patiently waiting for the bartender. She didn’t have long to wait. Tom was shaking the cocktail mixer with one hand, and squeezing a second lime into her vodka with the other. 

“A Ketel tonic, extra lime, for the lovely lady. And a Manhattan for Chris.”

He walked away without asking for a card. 

Chris couldn’t help but smile that Tom knew his name. It only helped him enjoy the night even more. He felt he was getting attention from both his date, and Tom. Tom refreshed both their drinks without Chris having to ask. Chris was careful to not let Tom’s attention mislead him as in the past.

As his date started her third round, he was confident he’d enjoy taking her home. He decided to switch to beer – Tom mixed lethally strong drinks; always accompanied with a lethal smile, the tiniest bit of tongue from between his lips as he laughed. 

Nearing 12:30am, Chris found himself handing Tom $40. He’s asked for $25 for the tab. Chris argued with him for almost two minutes. He realized he’d never win – not with Tom – probably not about anything. They left the bar and drove in near silence the 15 minutes to her home. He knew he kept glancing over at her – the way her still-tanned legs stretched out from beneath her skirt, the curve of her arm on the hand rest up to her chin, the light from the streetlamps as it shone in her hair… Why then was he leaving her in the entryway of her apartment building?

He pulled up to her apartment, turned off the engine, and looked to find her smiling, the slightest hint of drunkenness in her eyes. He put out a hand to help her out of the car, his other hand on her lower back as we walked her up the steps. She turned to kiss him, her lips already parted. All he knew as he closed his eyes was Tom. A beautiful girl, a sure fuck, stood in front of him, pushing her body into his as they kissed. And every fiber of his being was urging him back to the bar. 

He pulled away from the kiss and said goodnight. He couldn’t bear to look back. He was truly sorry for leaving her there – he knew he wanted her back; the stiffness between his legs confirming it – though he suspected some of that was because of Tom. 

He was back at the bar five minutes before last call. The bouncer had simply nodded to let him through. The bar was still crowded.

“What the hell happened? What are you doing here? No way she turned you down, man!”

Tom was in front of him the second Chris had approached the bar. He actually looked concerned.

“Not exactly. I sort of lost my nerve.”

“What?!”

A quick turn and Tom was back with a bottle and a shot glass. 

“Drink first, explain second.”

“Only if you accompany me.”

Tom shrugged and smiled, another glass appearing on the bar as he poured the whiskey. Chris took the glass, clinked glasses with Tom, and brought the shot to his lips as he heard both bartenders call out.

“Last call!!”

Tom tossed back the shot.

“Don’t go anywhere. Let me close some tabs, I’ll be back; you’ll need another one to go with your story.”

For the next ten minutes, Chris watched as Tom and his bartender filled last-minute drinks, closed tabs, and slowly turned up the lights. At 2am, the bouncer walked through the bar, wishing everyone a good night as he nudged them out the door. He music on the jukebox was cut as Tom closed out the last tab, his bartender leaving to the stockroom to restock the bar. The bouncer was returning odd cups and used napkins to the bar before shutting the door.

“So where were we?”

Tom was pouring another shot.

“No man, it’s fine. There’s not much to say, really, I don’t want to keep you.”

“Shut the fuck up and drink.”

Chris didn’t think he’d heard Tom swear before. He was definitely turned on. He knocked the shot back and laughed.

“So what the hell did happen? I was so certain you had sealed the deal. She was all over you! I mean, what woman wouldn’t be with that charming smile and Australian accent?”  
He stood and waited. Chris couldn’t make up an excuse fast enough – the alcohol was swimming through his head again – so he decided to be honest. Honest, but vague.  
“Truth is mate, I’ve got my eye on someone else and I just couldn’t do that to her.”

“Her, as in tonight’s girl? Or her, as in the other girl?”

“Uh, no, her as in the girl from tonight…”

Tom held up the bottle.

“No, no way. I’ll never get home.”

“So wait, you picked her up, then drove her home, said goodnight, then came back here?”

Tom sounded almost incredulous. Chris could only nod.

“That, my friend, absolutely demands another shot. No man I know is that courteous. I would think maybe you’d pay for her cab fare or something, but not this.”

Chris protested. He couldn’t drink anymore. 

“Fine, fine, a half shot for us each, and I’ll get you home. No way a good friend and patron is driving home drunk from my bar. Toss it back and we’ll go in five minutes. Not much left to clean up. These guys got most of it.”

Chris had forgotten that other people were in the bar, much less on the planet. He remained seated as Tom cleaned up the remaining glasses and took the till to the stockroom.

“Alright my friend, let’s go. Don’t worry, your car’s fine here; safe neighborhood. Goodnight guys, see you tomorrow.”

Chris couldn’t give a shit about his used car. He was vaguely aware of all the colors in the fully-lit bar as they swirled around him. He was hoping he would be able to give Tom directions to his apartment complex. He waited as Tom locked up, armed the bar alarm, and followed him to his car. In spite of how drunk he was, he was keenly aware of how nervous he was. He was watching Tom the same way he’d watched his date earlier that night. 

A short time later, Chris was giving him the numbers for the keypad to the gate. Tom insisted on pulling in all the way to ensure Chris made it in safely. When he put the car in park, Chris was actually sorry he was so drunk. They had barely talked on the way home, and Chris truly did want more time alone with Tom. He wanted Tom, but he also wanted more than just sex. He liked almost everything about Tom; almost. He wanted a reason to see Tom outside of the bar, truly as a friend. The only sure thing he knew was that he’d have to go back to the bar tomorrow to get his car. Could he possibly work up the nerve to ask Tom to pick him up tomorrow to go get his car?

“Alright then, you’re home safe and sound. This will help me sleep better tonight; I won’t have to worry if you’ve made it home.”

“So you’d have been thinking about me when you got home, aye?”

Chris smirked. He was acutely aware of how brazen the statement was, even if it was clearly a joke. Tom laughed heartily, his head tilting back in his seat. 

“Well yes, I suppose I would have. But in order to ensure it doesn’t happen come tomorrow, I must insist you give me your number so I can swing by and pick you up. When do you need your car?”

“I’m not in a rush. I don’t have anywhere to be. What time do you need to be at the bar? Just pick me up on your way, but only if it’s truly on your way. This has been enough of an inconvenience.”  
“Trust me, not a big deal. You can pop in early and grab a beer while I set up for the night. Then you’ll be free of me.”

He winked and reached for his phone. After the exchange, there was a momentary odd silence. It was almost three in the morning and the world had gone dead quiet. Chris had to break the silence, lest his thoughts somehow be heard in the silence.

“Well, thanks again, really, for everything. I can’t imagine how you make any money being this generous with your patrons, but I can’t complain. And thanks for the lift. And the offer to pick me up again tomorrow and—“

Tom closed the distance between them with a bruising kiss. One hand still on the steering wheel, the other on the back of Chris’ neck, Chris could feel the heat of Tom’s body leaving from his mouth as it entered his. Even in his shock, Chris knew he was happy. He leaned in, both hands on Tom’s cheeks as he kissed back. The electricity was undeniable between them. In a short time the windows were completely fogged up and Tom had turned off the engine. They wrestled with seat belts, trying to close the distance between them, the gearshift and handbrake impossible to avoid. 

Chris was so hard he was close to tears. His drunkenness wasn’t helping. He had wanted Tom from the first second he’d laid eyes on him. He knew he couldn’t have him like this, not really, but he didn’t want this to stop either. He was afraid Tom would somehow think it a mistake, and then there would be nothing. He refused to stop kissing Tom; so long as he could find a way to breathe, he was determined to keep his lips on Tom’s.


	6. Hurricane Drunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short and *cough* sweet chapter, inspired by "Hurricane Drunk", a song from Florence + the Machine's debut album. Easily one of my favorite musical discoveries in this decade, her music shocks me in a very good way. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SoHV229_DQM

Chris was so drunk he wasn’t sure if this was a dream. He was at the same time terrified and delighted to think it might be a dream. If it was, his subconscious was developing an unbelievable knack for incorporating Tom and being so vivid. But if it wasn’t in fact a dream, if this was really happening, then the heat in Tom’s kiss, the passion in his hands as they wound their way through his hair and up and down his neck, was equal to Chris’ desire. Tom pulled away suddenly, leaving Chris completely confused. 

“Don’t look so worried. I just need to—well, let’s just say I need to readjust my position.”

Tom lowered the handbrake, and the car rolled slightly. 

“Good thing I thought to turn the engine off before I did that. We’d have crashed right into your downstairs neighbor’s house. Wow, why the fuck am I talking? I think I might actually be a little nervous.”

Chris reached over the center console to kiss Tom again. He couldn’t believe Tom might actually be as nervous as him. It was unthinkable that a man so obviously aware of his effect on others would be nervous. Maybe he wasn’t so aware of it. Maybe it was just an effect he had on Chris. Was there a chance Tom had been interested in him, too, from the beginning?

He could feel Tom pushing back at him. He slowly, languidly pushed further into the kiss, pressing his palms again Chris’ chest, until Chris was fully seated again in the passenger seat. Tom kept one hand on his chest, and moved the other one to between Chris’ legs. Chris hissed, louder than he would have liked, as he felt Tom’s long fingers tug at his cock. It was so much better than he’d dreamed. Tom’s tongue was wrapped around Chris’, his lips sucking at Chris’ teeth as he unbuttoned his jeans and tugged at the waistline.  
Chris half-opened his eyes to see Tom’s body in a clearly uncomfortable position. His long legs reached out to the foot pedals, his body turned at the waist to meet Chris, so close they almost touched. His breath came ragged as Tom stopped kissing, looked back at Chris, and smiled. He maybe would have tried to argue, to feign his opposition to Tom going down on him, but he couldn’t even pretend he didn’t want it to happen. He wanted this, and so much more. But he was still mildly in disbelief.

Tom’s hand snaked around Chris to the lever at the base of the chair. He lowered the back slightly before lifting Chris’ shirt to kiss his torso. His tongue trailed from Chris’ belly button to the ridge just above his member. Chris could feel Tom’s warm breath mere inches from his cock; a reality that threatened to end him right then and there. When Tom’s mouth took Chris in for the first time, every hair on his body stood on end. He grabbed for the armrest, anything to steady his now-shaking body as the surprise of how good this felt sent Chris reeling. Not much about sex was new to Chris, but what he felt with Tom was entirely new, completely unexpected, and completely wonderful. 

Tom’s mouth moved up and down Chris, developing a steady rhythm. Chris couldn’t help but pump his hips, the tip of his cock hitting the back of Tom’s throat. Tom pulled his head away for a brief second, a whimper leaving Chris’ lips as he hurt at the mere idea of Tom stopping. He felt Tom’s hand ring the base of his shaft as his tongue played with the tip. The precome already leaking trailed into Tom’s mouth, salty and thick with want. He could feel Tom’s mouth stretch into a smile. As he took him in again, a light hum escaped Tom’s throat, sending the silken vibrations through Chris’ shaft, shooting to his brain, almost blinding Chris with desperation and desire. He pushed Tom’s head further, his fingers holding tight to Tom’s curls. Tom’s rhythm returned, soon quickening its pace as Chris’ need peaked and he came, hot and all salty sweet into Tom’s mouth. He tried to lift Tom’s head, almost roughly as his fingers were still entwined in Tom’s curls, but Tom resisted. He let Chris’ seed fill his mouth before Chris felt Tom swallow. The adrenaline and pent up lust left him in one incredible rush; the sudden exhaustion and alcohol mixed and left Chris panting, almost unconscious on the seat. 

Tom slowly lifted his head, a finger trailing his lower lip, catching a spot of come in the corner of his mouth. His chest was heaving as he too struggled to calm his breathing. Chris was all too aware of the sly smile in Tom’s eyes. He leaned to meet Chris’ face in the seat, and slowly kissed him. He gave one final, tight squeeze to Chris’ thigh, then pulled back and ran a hand through the mess of his hair.

“Well, I guess I’ll give you a call before I come over tomorrow. Somewhere around 7, probably; that work for you?”

Chris could only nod. He was still afraid to talk, fearing his voice would only come out in a hoarse whisper. He quickly zipped his jeans and readjusted the car seat. He turned to see Tom, patiently waiting to make sure he was alright. He was leaning back in his own chair, looking over at Chris with a quiet smile. Chris stepped out of the car and closed the door. He couldn’t decide if he should turn back. Should he wave, say something? Everything seemed stupid. He heard the car turn on, and the window lower.

“Looking forward to it, then. Have a good night.”

Tom winked at Chris before driving off.


	7. Scotch and Soda

Sunlight streamed through the curtains as the sun finally peaked through the thick gray clouds. It had rained most of the morning and into the early afternoon when Chris finally opened his eyes. The sun found his crystal blue eyes, shattering into a headache. He was absurdly hung over, more than he felt he should be. He didn’t need to stop and think about last night. He knew everything about last night. Last night was worth every second of this headache.

He rolled over and looked at the messy trail of clothes. The second he’d walked through the door, he’d shed all his clothes and passed out in bed, naked and with a deep smile on his face. He checked his phone – completely dead. So he arched his neck, a fresh wave of pain moving through his head as he looked up the nightstand to the alarm clock – 1:42pm. 

He knew he should get up, even if he didn’t have a fucking thing to do until Tom came to get him. He wasn’t concerned that Tom would change his mind, that he’d see things differently today. Something in that final smile from last night reassured Chris. Yawning deeply, he thought to plug his phone in and set an alarm before falling back asleep. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Several hours later, Chris’ thirst woke him finally. He stumbled to the kitchen, standing at the open refrigerator door drinking water until the pitcher was empty. The water and sleep helped with the hangover, a shower and food would definitely help more. He didn’t bother checking for food. He called to order a pizza before jumping into the shower  
Showered and limp with hunger, Chris sat on the couch in a faded t-shirt and boxers, absentmindedly flipping the channels on TV. The furnishings in his apartment were simple, but they came with the place, and he didn’t care. So many hopeful, oftentimes-struggling actors and singers stayed in these apartments, he wondered if anyone now famous had stayed in this particular apartment.

The phone rang to signal someone waiting at the gate. He buzzed the delivery guy in, dug in his wallet for a tip, then checked to see if he had a condom tucked inside. It was a habit he’d developed on the advice of his older brother. It had always served him well. He fingered the wrapped condom and wondered if he’d need it tonight. 

Halfway through his third slice of pizza he got a text. Tom was confirming 7:30 tonight. Chris didn’t want to answer right away – seem too eager or desperate – so he got up and poked around the kitchen, drinking more water, all the while holding the phone in his hand. He finished the third slice before finally texting back. 

He spent the next 25 minutes figuring out what to wear, as if he were going on a date. Suddenly wondering if Tom would want to come upstairs, he quickly cleaned up the trail of clothes and shoes, threw the duvet over the messy bed, and tossed the box of pizza in the fridge.

Just before 7:30, Tom texted, asking Chris to come down. He grabbed his wallet and keys, reminding himself not to overdo it in case he hung around the bar that night. He had to be able to drive himself home this time. 

Tom was all smiles when Chris opened the door to the car.

“Hello Chris, so nice to see you.”

Tom’s one long arm was draped over the back of the passenger seat; the other with its slender fingers gripping the steering wheel.

“Shall we?”

He hit the gas and sped down the long driveway that led to the apartment complex. It was early for Saturday night, and Tom sped through the streets unhindered by any traffic. It was already dark out, and the clouds threatened more rain. 

“Is the bar even busier on rainy nights?”

“Hard to say. Some nights, definitely. Other nights, it’s like the rain keeps people away. I guess we’ll see what tonight’s like.”

Chris looked out the window and smiled. He wouldn’t spend his entire night at the bar, but it would be nice to have Tom all to himself for a short while at least.

“I figure you’ll just get your car and go then, yes? Another hot date tonight?”

Chris felt his heart sink. He was hoping to hear Tom ask him to hang out.

“No actually, no plans. I’m not exactly keen on going out these days. A struggling actor doesn’t have that kind of budget. Besides, unless I have a chance at networking somehow, I choose to stay home.”

“Interesting…I never pegged you for a homebody. Well, like attracts like I guess, or something like that. I’m not really out much either, seeing as I work nights anyway.”

They had arrived at the bar. Tom parked in the same spot as the night before and practically hopped out of the car. Chris wondered how this man always seemed to be in a good mood. He figured he put on a good face for his business; no one wanted to be served by a pouty bartender. But Tom almost always had that lopsided grin on his face, or a wink to share… Still somewhat lost in thought, he stepped out of the car to find Tom at the open door. He grabbed Chris’ waist and kissed him softly, a slow, tender kiss that somehow calmed Chris’ nerves. He stopped and stepped back, his hand still at Chris’ waist.

“I hope that was ok.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’ll live.”

“Good, because I don’t think I’m through yet.”

Tom pushed Chris against the car, taking his head in his hands, and kissed him again. The kiss was slightly rougher, Tom’s tongue sliding into Chris’ mouth, filling Chris with a heat he’d never felt before, not with anyone. He wrapped his arms around Tom’s slender waist and felt him inch closer. Tom was so lean, Chris almost loosened his hold. He suddenly felt how different they were physically, how he could easily dominate Tom. The thought excited and frightened him. He had never felt this way before about a man; and now he was already considering control. 

The thought didn’t last long, as Tom gripped Chris’ hair for one last strong kiss before releasing him. Chris didn’t think Tom was ever the passive one in any relationship; the man’s confidence was astounding. 

“Well, as much as I could stand out here and do this all night, I’m afraid I have to get to work. You’re welcome to come in and watch the drudgery of preparing for the night, but I completely understand if you’d like to escape.”

“Maybe I’ll come in for an early drink while I watch you slog. Maybe a scotch and soda in exchange for some manual labor…?”

“I’m not opposed to watching you work up a sweat…”

Tom walked towards the back door of the bar without looking back. Chris remained leaning against the car, still catching his breath until Tom disarmed the bar. The man was an unbelievable tease. Chris wondered how long he’d last.


	8. Undisclosed Desires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title doesn't need much of an explanation, but yes, it is inspired by Muse.  
> PS - I haven't decided if I'm done with this chapter, or if I'll be adding more. I've been writing shorter chapters of late in an attempt to keep my thoughts concise. (Yeah I know, nobody cares. Hell, I barely care....)

It was strange being in the bar with the rooms so well-lit. Chris was used to, and definitely preferred, the small place shrouded in half-darkness. This place, where he first laid eyes on Tom; this place, owned by the man who was quickly becoming the subject of his every thought; he preferred it dark. He needed the familiar darkness to keep his thoughts and desires hidden away. Even now, after last night, after their kiss not moments ago, Chris couldn’t help but feel uneasy. He wasn’t used to falling for someone so fast, so hard.  
Still, he liked the way Tom made him feel. Now, when Tom glanced over at him as he arranged the clean glasses at the edge of the bar, Chris no longer felt butterflies in his stomach. Instead he felt an interesting warmth in his chest. Now, when Tom gave him that lopsided grin, or purposely accidentally touched his arm, Chris wasn’t worried that Tom would see right through him, know how he felt about him. Because now it was apparent – to both of them – that something electric existed between them.

The bar wouldn’t open before 9 that night, but Tom still had to sort through the finances from last night, a task he’d put off, according to him, thanks to Chris. He excused himself to the stockroom after pouring Chris a drink. Chris insisted his pour not be so heavy-handed. Tom relented after handing Chris several crisp $1 bills.

“Choose some good music to keep me company while I count.”

“There must be something else I can do to help you.”

Tom winked. Chris smirked.

“No, honestly, what else can I do so I’m out of your hair.”

“Well if you insist, the dishwasher needs to be emptied. But really, that’s something my bar back can do when he gets here. Just sit back and relax.”

Tom left Chris in the lit emptiness of the bar. His glass of scotch and soda sat sweating on a napkin at the bar. He stared at the amber liquid, considering his options for the night. There were so many ways the night could go. Chris didn’t want to contemplate anything other than Tom coming home with him. He decided to pick some music that would keep him out of his own head, and then empty the dishwasher. 

He stacked the cocktail glasses in neat towers, arranged the tumblers and martini glasses in rows behind the already-clean ones, and set the cocktail shakers underneath the bar on their shelf. Two songs of the ten he’d picked had played, and no sign of Tom. The faint clicks of either calculator or computer keys from the stockroom told Chris he was still busy. Chris considered his glass a second time, keeping his mind clear of the fuzzy emotional thoughts that threatened to consume him, and walked the circuit of the small bar. He re-examined the paisley-pattern of the textured wall on the opposite end of the bar. He walked through the back room with its benches and cushions, not stopping to revisit his dreams, and ended up at the billiard table. Still hearing the keys clicking, he set the glass on the edge of the table, arranged the balls, and chalked a cue. The crack of the break seemed to fill the entire bar, the hollow sound of billiard balls echoing through the emptiness of the bar. 

Chris kept his crystal blue gaze on the game, absentmindedly sipping his drink as he played. His back to the stockroom, he was setting up his third shot when a hand snaked around his waist. 

“Nice shot you’ve set up. Don’t let me distract you,” Tom breathed into his ear. 

“There’s no other way to describe what you’re doing, I’m afraid.”

Chris kept his gaze forward, the unmistakable stiffness between Tom’s legs pressed up against him. 

“You’re right, of course. Too bad I’m enjoying watching you bent over so much, I can’t seem to release you.”

Chris’ grip on the cue intensified as Tom’s tongue found his ear. He brought his other hand to Chris’ neck, his slender fingers grazing his skin, almost willing the goose bumps to appear. Tom kissed behind Chris’ ear, then down to behind his neck, his teeth tugging at Chris’ collar to expose more skin. He pressed in closer still, breathing Chris in. 

“Oh fuck it, as if the game matters!”

Chris turned in to face Tom, eyes meeting as he kissed Tom, feeling the urge to control him return as he forced Tom’s mouth open further. He pushed back, feeling Tom’s hipbones through his jeans press up against him. Chris’ hand reached down to Tom’s crotch, groping mindlessly. He couldn’t think straight anymore. He was a second away from unzipping Tom’s pants when the back door unlocked. Tom’s bar back stepped in, soaked from the rain.

“What the hell happened to you?”

“I couldn’t find a spot close to the bar, and why the fuck would I remember to carry an umbrella in LA where it hardly ever rains? Hey, I’m Drew.”

The bar back introduced himself to Chris, who had conveniently turned back around to face the billiard table, hiding the obvious sign of arousal. Tom had stepped back from Chris immediately to lean against the wall by the jukebox. Drew left to finish setting up behind the bar; Chris was suddenly hyper-aware of everything around him, the music on the jukebox, the colors in the bar, the sting of the watered-down scotch and soda as he quickly finished his drink.

He thanked Tom again for getting him home safely and for bringing him back to his car. He said a too-loud goodbye to the bar back before heading out into the rainy night. He reached his car just as his phone buzzed in his pocket.

“I need to see you again tonight. Can I call you when I close?”

He stared into the screen, the rain slowly blurring the letters.

“Yes.”


	9. Warm Guinness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, an update! The question is, do I stop the story here, or do I keep going??

The night dragged and dragged. Chris found himself making trails in the carpet, walking first from his bedroom to the couch, flipping the channels on the TV, then from the couch to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator to stare at nothing in particular. He wasn’t hungry, he wasn’t thirsty, there was nothing he wanted to watch on TV… He didn’t know what he wanted. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He knew he wanted Tom, but not just for tonight. Obviously he wanted Tom to call when he was done at the bar; but even that phone call wouldn’t guarantee anything. And it wouldn’t be enough. He wanted to be with Tom. He was unbelievably certain.

On his seventh or eighth circuit of the apartment, he grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator, tossing the cap onto the counter as he walked to the window that overlooked the parking area. How was last night only one night ago? It suddenly felt eons away. He turned to his laptop, perched on the coffee table from many days ago. He started playing “The National” again, realizing the lyrics were resonating more than he’d like to admit. He had emails waiting for him, more than he’d expected. And they were important. Apparently casting directors had turned to email rather than phone calls these days.

“Dear Mr. Hemsworth…,” he read out loud, “We are interested in having you back for a second call. The director has seen your reel and would like to discuss the possibility of a larger role for you, upon audition, of course.”

He couldn’t believe it. Even if he didn’t get the role, this was probably the biggest turn of luck ever. A major production for a major studio was interested in him – maybe for a bigger role. Would he have lines? Would he be in more than one scene? Would this shoot conflict with the soap opera stint? Should he give up the sure thing of the soap opera recurring role for a one-shot in the movies? Yes, of course! No, it was too risky. He read and reread the email, slowly driving himself crazy as all the possibilities and impossibilities ran through his head.

He shut the screen in a panic and chugged down the rest of the beer. He needed a clear head to consider all his options. And while his thoughts were still preoccupied with Tom, he’d never be able to think clearly. He checked his watch – only 11:30pm – and on a Saturday. The bar was undoubtedly packed, even with the rain outside. No way would he hear from Tom before 2:30 in the morning. Could he wait that long? He wondered if he could talk to Tom about career options, or other such topics. He knew he wanted to, but he had no way to know what Tom was thinking. He was pretty sure Tom was only interested in the physical – a circumstance Chris was not going to pass up – just sitting there thinking about Tom got him all riled up. 

He crossed back to the kitchen and pulled another beer out of the refrigerator. It would be wiser to spend this wasted time in the gym. He knew he had to keep in shape, especially with the possibility of a movie role. The gym was just one floor down, in the same wing as his apartment, but the thought of making his way down the halls, leaving the cocoon of his apartment, was not a pleasant one. He turned up the music and settled on cleaning up the mess he’d made last night. His clothes and shoes were in heaps all over his room. If he was lucky enough to get Tom to his bed, he wanted it clean and ready. He tossed rumpled shirts and jeans into a laundry basket. He needed to do laundry, go to the gym, catch up on emails – he absolutely wanted to succeed in Hollywood – he had to get his shit together. But thoughts of Tom had quickly and suddenly become all-consuming. 

Chris continued to putter around the apartment, socked feet moving from bedroom to bathroom to living room. He stopped in the kitchen every so often to grab another beer. They were helping take the edge off; the nervous energy built up inside him as he realized he kept glancing over at his phone, almost willing it to ring.   
When exactly he fell asleep he wasn’t sure. But he woke with a start and found himself half-up on the bed. His feet were still close to the floor, his head had somehow found a pillow, and the bottle of beer was somehow still upright in his hand. His cell phone was ringing. 

“Please tell me you still want to see me tonight.” 

The text was sent over five minutes ago. Thankfully his cell phone was in the habit of repeated alerts. He rose up suddenly, sloshing beer on the white sheets, and on his legs. He cursed, then set the beer down as he realized his hands were genuinely shaking. It was almost 2:30 in the morning. Hopefully Tom was still at the bar, still waiting to hear from him. His response was short and clear.

“Come over whenever you want.”

He sat on the edge of the bed for ten minutes, hardly moving. When the phone rang for the gate, he held it to his ear and found his voice caught in his throat. Tom had wasted no time coming over.

“Hello?”

“I’m hoping you’re only expecting me,” the dig followed by that all-too-familiar snigger. 

Chris went to open the front door, then turned off the music and shut the laptop. The emails, the reality he’d been ignoring would just have to wait a while longer. He heard the door shut and turned to face Tom, this time with only a small smile across his lips. Something altogether different was in his eyes.

“I’m so happy I haven’t scared you away. I tend to come on too strong.”

“I thought I made my intentions clear earlier tonight. Too bad we were interrupted.”

“Oh yeah, sorry about that. I’d honestly forgotten where we were in that moment.” He winked and shrugged his leather jacket off. 

“Uh, can I get you anything to drink? I’m afraid my selection is much smaller than, well, yours?”

Chris began walking passed Tom towards the kitchen. He felt an arm snake around his waist and pull him in.

“If it’s all the same to you, I think what I really want is standing right here.” 

His hands were at Tom’s pants, struggling with the garish Union Jack belt buckle. He heard Tom laugh. It made him relax to hear that familiar laugh.

“I’ll take care of mine if you take care of yours.”

Their bodies could not have been more different. Tom was all limbs, with legs that seemed to go on forever. He was skinny but definitely in shape, and unbelievably well endowed. Chris swallowed hard. As he pulled Tom into the bedroom, he felt Tom, hard and ready up between his legs. Chris hoped he would have another opportunity with Tom, at least one more, to study him more. His skin was maddeningly white except for the tattoo above his elbow, the sinew of his veins beautifully apparent. He watched Tom pull off his black shirt and drop against the pillows in nothing but a pair of tight boxer-briefs. Despite the somewhat unfamiliar territory, Tom’s presence in the room somehow put him at ease. He was relaxed against the pillows, Chris’ pillows, watching Chis watching him from the end of the bed. Tom smiled, then closed his eyes and slipped off his underwear. Chris was naked a second later, crawling to reach Tom.

“It’s not often I bring a gorgeous man to his knees.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

Tom pulled Chris in by his broad shoulders, kissing him madly, biting at his jaw and neck. He sucked at Chris’ neck as he reached for Chris’ fingers. He urged Chris’ fingers in to him, pushing open against him, and bucked as Chris put in first one, then immediately another, finger into Tom. Chris couldn’t help but hesitate. Tom whispered to him gently, urging him on, groaning deeply as Chris kissed him deeply. Then he felt Tom pull back. He opened his eyes, worried.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right back. We can’t get too much farther…” 

He patted out the bedroom, Chris watching him as he went. Having watched that ass for so many nights, he was happy to watch Tom walk away now, completely naked. The view upon his return was definitely not bad, either. Tom returned to the side of the bed, standing above Chris, fully erect, a condom and a small bottle of lube in his fist.

“You go everywhere with those?”

“No, not everywhere…” Tom smiled and pulled Chris up, cupping his chin to kiss him. Chris felt himself rubbing up against Tom, taking Tom in his hand and tugging. He could feel Tom smile through the kiss. They fell back on the bed again, Tom fumbling with the cap on the lube, then squeezing some out onto his fingers, never breaking the kiss. 

“This will make things undoubtedly easier.”

He playfully tossed the condom at Chris and lay back down, legs splayed, fingers preparing himself for Chris. Chris watched him for a few seconds before advancing on Tom, no longer able to wait. The nervous chatter, the kissing, the laughs, they were all Tom’s attempt to put Chris at ease. Chris wasn’t worried about that anymore; he was more concerned with how long he’d last inside Tom. He pushed himself in, as quickly as he dared. He heard Tom gasp, then immediately pull his arms around Chris, pulling him in closer. Chris pushed Tom’s knees up, using them for leverage as felt the incredible tightness and heat around his cock. Tom’s long arms kept themselves on Chris’ body, his hands running along his hips, his thighs, his butt. He pulled Chris’ body down, flattening Chris’ abs against Tom’s cock, the friction pushing him closer to the end. Chris came first, his hair stuck to his forehead in beads of heavy sweat. He thrust into Tom still, almost unable to stop himself until he felt Tom come. Only then did he pull out, almost collapsing on Tom, and completely out of breath. Tom let out the quietest laugh and smoothed the hair out of Chris’ eyes. He pulled him in for one final, long kiss before Chris rolled over and fell fast asleep.

He woke in the morning to find Tom gone. It was as if he’d removed all traces of his presence – the lube, the condom wrapper, even the side of the bed had been smoothed out, and the pillow rearranged. He looked over to find the last half-drunk bottle of Guinness still on the nightstand, now warm in the cold, gray morning. He pulled the covers over him, not caring about the time, not wanting to think at all.


	10. Poison and Wine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's *cough* inspirational soundtrack: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WfzRlcnq_c0

Chris wasted most of his Sunday. He stayed in bed, looking over at the pillow where he knew Tom had once laid his head, at least for a little while. He was so fulfilled from last night, but couldn’t help feeling a twinge of sadness. He didn’t want last night to be the only night; he wanted to wake up this morning and feel Tom’s long arms around him. Somehow his bed felt cold, colder than at the end of any other sexual encounter, or even relationship. 

He didn’t hear from Tom at all that day. Despite the silence, he was still wrapped in the glow of the night before – and the night before that – and all the events that had led up to it. He was picking up every flirtatious glance, every subtle hint, every playful giggle that Tom had sent his way, and he was now convinced that Tom had been seeking him out. Whether it was how he landed every score, or whether Chris was something special, Chris couldn’t know, and for most of the day, he didn’t care.

As the day came to an end, so did Chris’ bliss. Even before last night, he knew he’d want more from Tom than just one night, and this feeling wouldn’t subside. He knew he was going to wait for Tom to make the next move – to get in touch with him, ask him to the bar, or ask him out – but as the sun set completely, he came to the realization that the next move might never come. If Tom was only interested in the score, then he got what he wanted. Chances are, if Chris walked back into the bar, Tom would be as courteous as ever, but his eye might already be on someone else. 

In this way, Chris’ mood darkened. He stayed up late, trying to pad his emotions with tedious tasks. It was well after 2am when he suddenly remembered those emails. He cursed himself for letting Tom be his sole preoccupation. How could he have forgotten about those emails, those opportunities?

Attributing his sudden vigor to the self-esteem boost from the night before, he pored over those few but critical emails. He burned fresh copies of his reel to distribute; he made sure his headshots were creaseless as he prepped the brown manila envelope for his casting call. The casting director wanted to see him in two days. Renewed with this sense of purpose, Chris drove Tom from his mind. He wouldn’t be the one to try and get in touch. Tom knew where to find him. 

Early the next morning, Chris found himself in the apartment complex’s gym, adrenaline coursing through him as he jogged on the treadmill. In spite of his seesawing attitude towards Tom, he had to admit the sex was great, beyond great in fact; and great sex made for a great motivator. He worked out for over an hour, then showered and headed to the café to see Paul. His friend never auditioned for the same role, so he felt comfortable going to him for advice. He didn’t think about the waitress he’d all but abandoned just a few nights before, and thankfully she wasn’t there, but Paul was there to question him.

“What the fuck, man? She was so upset yesterday! She said you guys were clicking the whole night, then you just dump her outside her door?”

“It’s complicated. I tried to do right by her and get her home safely. I know that doesn’t forgive me from being an asshole, but something just didn’t feel right. I’m sorry. Besides, I could really use your advice.”

They talked for a while, Chris mostly listening as his more-experienced friend shared what he knew. He left the café having realized he never ate anything. With an empty stomach and an empty feeling in his gut, he drove back to his apartment. He needed a decent meal, and a decent night’s sleep. Tomorrow he had an audition. He was in LA for his career. He loved acting more than almost anything. It was something he was truly proud of; a craft he’d embraced since he was in primary school. Despite the cosmic gravitational pull Tom seemed to have over him, he was just another person Chris had met in his quest to become an actor. He had to get over it, and he had to get over Tom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Exhausted from his day, Chris threw himself down on the couch and turned on the TV. He kicked off his shoes and sighed, mulling over everything that happened that day. All things considered, the day was a good one for a sometimes-struggling actor. His audition for the movie was almost an hour long. Surely the length of time and the number of people present could only mean good things. Then again, he’d left the studio without a clear answer. He’d been promised an answer within the next day. 

His confidence had taken a hit though, so he got back in his car and sat in miserable traffic, just to drive less than 10 miles over the hill to another studio, to the soap opera stint. He waited at the gate while the security guard placed a phone call, then directed him to the other end of the lot, to a bank of trailers. He walked up the ramp, metal and plastic grinding under his weight, and went in to the producers’ office to sign on for the role. They guaranteed him two weeks on the show. An easy role, and easy money. 

One of the producers walked him through the set. He’d been on the show before, but only for a day, and now he would have a dressing room, at least temporarily, and he needed to learn to navigate the set quickly. They wanted him back in two days to begin filming. It never took very long for the bank of writers to incorporate new characters or new storylines. If things went well, they might ask him back for a longer stint on the show, but he didn’t want to think about that right now. He just wanted to focus on acting; any acting that kept him occupied and employed. 

He leafed through his copy of the contract on the coffee table. He should read through it carefully, just in case – of what he wasn’t sure. He padded to the kitchen, socked toes curling on the soft carpet. He pulled out the box of pizza from a few days before. Not bothering to heat it, he grabbed a slice with a napkin and headed back to the couch. His phone was buzzing. It had to be the casting director.

“So how long am I supposed to wait to hear from you?”

He could almost hear Tom’s teasing whisper in his ear. He didn’t know what to do. Every time they came together, the tension between them was combustible. He couldn’t help but love the way his stomach fluttered when the distance closed between them. But he couldn’t let Tom drag him along like this. He’d almost forgotten about the casting call altogether. He knew Tom wasn’t looking for anything serious, and if he was honest with himself, he didn’t have the time for it either, but he knew he had to talk to Tom. He had to say something, establish some kind of…what, boundary? A set of rules? Why did this man cause him so much emotional stress? 

He looked back down at the phone and smiled in spite of himself. Of course he was going to answer, and of course he would go to him. He typed in as aloof a response as possible. Then he waited. And waited. Ten minutes later the phone actually rang. But it wasn’t Tom. It was the casting director.


	11. Berry Crush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a fucking update! I don't even know if anyone has stuck around, but if you have, bless you! Anyway, this chapter started soon after the last one but took me forever to update. Given my habits as a bit of a lush, the title of the chapter is my own creation ;)

The taste of the berry exploded in his mouth, all sweet and sour bursting through the tiny pockets of the blackberry, the juice filling his mouth. They were soft and ripe, still wet and glistening in the large glass bowl. They were meant to be muddled with mint, the featured drink at the bar that night. He watched Tom rim the martini glass with a lime wedge, flecks of pulp catching on the rim. He dipped the glass in sugar and set it down; still frosty from the ice it had been chilled in.

“You better get this bowl away from me, or I’ll end up eating your key ingredient,” Chris quipped as he popped another blackberry into his mouth. Tom stretched across the bar with a smile and kissed him, his tongue catching the last of the berry juice.

“Very sweet.”

Tom was less than an inch from Chris.

“The berries?”

“Well, yes…among other things.” 

Tom smiled and flicked his tongue across Chris’ lower lip. Chris parted his lips to draw Tom in.

“Hmm, you’re right; I absolutely should take these away. Any more taste of berry on your tongue and I won’t want to open the bar at all tonight.”

Tom retreated, his hand taking its time to snake across Chris’ arm. Almost mockingly, Chris took another berry between his fingers, his eyes never leaving Tom’s and placed the berry between his lips, pausing. Tom just shook his head and laughed.

“You unbelievable tease.”

“Well, I’ve learned from the best.”

Chris settled back on the bar stool and crossed his arms, smirking. He watched Tom toss a handful of berries in the bottom of a shaker, then tear fresh mint leaves off the large bunch. A squeeze of lime was added, and then he muddled the mixture, adding a generous portion of vodka. Chris watched the process transfixed; Tom was expertly adding and mixing ingredients before he added the ice, shook the cocktail vigorously, then strained it into the rimmed martini glass. He finished it with a small sprig of floating mint leaves, then set it down on the napkin in front of Chris.

“Cheers, Mr. Manhattan. Tonight, something different for you.”

Chris examined the frothy, purple beverage through the glass. 

“Thanks for being my guinea pig. I like adding fresh ingredients whenever possible.”

Chris took a sip and relaxed his shoulders. Tonight he’d be meeting the casting director – again – here at the bar. It was highly unorthodox for this kind of meeting. He wasn’t even in the movie yet. He’d been reassured time and again that the director was very interested in him, but even after the second audition, even after meeting with the casting director, director, even one of the producers, he still wasn’t offered the part. When he finally did get a call, some three days later, her voice on the phone wasn’t cheerful enough, and Chris was convinced they’d turned him down. Instead, she said she wanted to meet, not at the studio, but somewhere else, maybe for a drink or coffee – his choice. He immediately suggested the bar; he wanted a comfortable location. He was starting to suspect she wanted to meet in person, turn him down after buying him a drink so he would maybe feel less dejected. At least he’d have Tom’s watchful glance, and a stiff drink, to comfort him after the bad news.

They were meeting at 9 that night. Chris figured one cocktail before the meeting would be just enough to calm his grating nerves. No opportunity had made him this nervous before. The part wasn’t a big deal, but the movie was. This could be his chance; it could set the rest of his career in motion.

Meanwhile, the bar was coming to life around him. Tom opened the bar just before 8, a few regulars already finishing their cigarettes on the sidewalk before coming in. A few of them nodded to Chris. No one knew, or likely would have cared, that Tom and Chris had been seeing so much of each other. They’d even gone out to dinner last night since Tom wouldn’t be opening the bar. He’d told Chris he didn’t need to be there every night, especially during the week, but the bar had become so much a second home; it was where he met so many people, made friends.

“Besides, if I wasn’t here that first night you walked in, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

Chris wondered how different his life would be if Tom hadn’t been behind the bar that night. He might never have returned at all. He would never have met the man who’d affected him so much – emotionally, physically…

Tom had a libido and an imagination to match. The night he heard from the casting director, who he was now waiting to meet, Tom had asked him to come to the bar. He had opened the bar for the regulars only, for another rugby game. The game was almost over and Tom was disappointed that Chris hadn’t walked through the door. When Chris finally did walk into the mostly-deserted bar that night, Tom already had a glass of Jameson waiting for him. He stayed behind the bar, his arms outstretched, palms resting on the counter. Chris drank him in, noticing the way his long, thin fingers curled and relaxed as he watched Chris. 

No one noticed that Chris walked in 5 minutes before the game ended, or that Tom was rushing everyone else out, almost letting everyone go without even charging them. Tom was the only employee at the bar that night, so he escorted the last of his patrons to the door before locking it. Chris was looking at the cabinet on the wall off to one side of the bar. There were a few pictures, mostly of landscapes, and some black and white photography. There were half-burned candles, a few Playbills, and a model of a human skull. Chris was wondering if it was possibly a real skull when he felt Tom’s fingers curl into his hair and tug his head back. He was so tall, he easily reached Chris’ lips, his tongue pushing its way in. His other hand was at Chris’ crotch, fondling at his already-stiffening cock. Tom reached up and grabbed Chris’ sweater, pulling him off the stool, the force sent the glass from Chris’ hand to the floor, shattering. It didn’t even slow Tom down.

“Don’t you dare bend down,” he growled. “Well actually, that’s exactly what I want you to do…”

He pulled Chris back into the kiss and shuffled backwards into the poorly-lit room with the billiard table. He tugged at Chris’ sweater, pulling it over his head. Chris’ hair fell down around his eyes in a golden sheet.

“My god, you are a beautiful man.”

Naked and almost breathless, Tom climbed onto the billiard table. He beckoned to Chris. Both on their knees, Tom pulled Chris close, the friction between them eliciting a heavy moan from Chris. Tom was at his neck, then his collar bone, kissing and biting his way down. He sucked at Chris’ nipple and slowly leaned forward, forcing Chris onto his back. The textured table was rough against his back and bare ass, as Tom continued making trails with his tongue down Chris’ chest. He licked at the sides of his waist, and Chris erupted in a fit of giggles.

“Well, seems I’ve made an interesting discovery.”

He played his long fingers along the sides of Chris’ ribs, causing him to writhe in a combination of arousal and laughter.

“Stop! Stop…”

“But I like the way it makes you squirm. Hmm, yes, I like watching you like this.”


	12. The Humbling River

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been listening to a shit ton of Puscifer lately, and this song has been resonating with me a lot lately, so there you have it: "The Humbling River" - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dIjUtzWrCeA

They lay on the scruff of the pool table for a long time after. Tom shared his many unsuccessful forays into the world of acting. Chris shared his current apprehension about the movie offer. Their hands entwined, one of Tom’s long legs wrapped around Chris’ knees, they lay in the dim light of the room talking softly and laughing. Chris ran a hand through Tom’s curls, still damp from sweat. He didn’t want to say or do anything; he didn’t want to end the moment, but he had to.

“I hate myself for saying this, but I should go. I do have a potentially career-shaping meeting tomorrow.”

Tom loosened his fingers from Chris’ immediately then flicked his tongue in Chris’ ear.

Chris closed his eyes and moaned, “The master of mixed signals. How the fuck is anyone supposed to understand what you just did right there?”

Tom smirked and sat up, leaning his elbows on the green surface.

“Until we meet again then…”

He remained that way as Chris hopped off the table and dressed, searching for his clothes amongst Tom’s strewn about the room. Their eyes locked, blue on blue, as Chris leaned in to the table for a final kiss before pushing the back door open.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was still lost in his memory, eyes glancing over at the billiard table, when a familiar face caught his attention. She was somewhat older, but fit into the myriad crowd.  
“Nice place,” she said as she sat down in the vacant stool beside Chris.

“Shauna, great to see you. Hope the place is ok.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I figured you’d want to meet someplace comfortable.”

His heart sank.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“Sure, I’ll have what you’re having.”

Tom was already standing in front of them when Chris turned to face the bar. He tapped at his glass and gestured for two more. The casting director turned and set her purse on the counter. Neither said anything until Tom placed both glasses down. He gave Chris a steady look before moving to take another order. 

“Thanks, this looks interesting.”

The casting director held the glass to the soft light behind the bottles on the wall before taking a sip.

“Wow, that’s quite good. It’s drinks like this that catch you by surprise.”

Chris couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah, the bartender’s good at that…”

“So, on to business. Like I said before, the director’s very interested in you. Your screen test was well-received. However, we don’t feel the part is quite right for you.”

Chris kept his gaze on the bottles in front of him. He was glad he’d signed on for the soap opera stint.

“We know you’re working on establishing yourself here in LA, but you’re also aware that newer actors must be willing to put themselves out there.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“What we’d like to know is if you’d be willing to relocate to Vancouver for three months.”

Chris felt his eyes glaze over as he turned to her.

“What?”

“Well the part you auditioned for was pretty much an extra with a few lines, so that scene would have filmed here, but much of the production is in Vancouver – forests and cliffs and such – so your potential involvement would require relocating.”

“Wait, wait…so you guys want me for a bigger part? This isn’t a ‘we’re sorry’ meeting?”

“Not at all! Which is why I’m letting you buy me a drink.”

She smiled and took another sip.

“Like it or not, this requires a bit of time and more commitment from you, which is why I’m talking to you here, over the consoling feel of alcohol in your veins. The Vancouver production starts in ten days. We’d need you up there in five to seven says at the most. I’m afraid that doesn’t even allow your time to go home.”

He was dumbfounded. A thousand thoughts ran through his head. This was unbelievable. A chance to be a billed actor in a huge movie like this; he could hardly believe it. His head was swimming. He’d have to turn around and quit from the soap. Would he need a lawyer? He’d have to call his family in Australia – his parents would be thrilled. He’d have to figure out a way for them to come visit him on set. He’d have to terminate the lease on his apartment. Still, it was only three months. Then he could come back – after going home first of course – he could come back and afford a real apartment near the current one…why was he so fixated on finding a place nearby?

He shook his head and almost laughed at the string of dumb thoughts going through his head when he looked up and locked eyes with Tom. Suddenly his fixation with proximity made sense. He’d want to come back to Tom. Everything was suddenly cast in shadow.

“I need some time to think.”

He didn’t really. He knew he’d say yes. But his mind needed to give his heart some allowance.

“Absolutely; though we are down to the wire, so I can only give you until about 3 o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”

She opened her purse and handed Chris a manila envelope.

“A few script pages, plus some other specifics. You’ve got my number.”

She sat next to him for a few minutes while he thumbed through the pages. He saw the words but couldn’t read them. It didn’t matter. He would call her first thing in the morning. 

“Thank you Shauna. Thanks to all of you for having so much confidence in me. This is unbelievable.”

She finished her drink and smiled, “Hopefully that means I’ll hear from you soon. Goodnight Chris, take care.”

He stood up to walk her out. The bouncer nodded as he waited on the sidewalk while she got into her car. Tom was in front of his glass when he returned, the envelope with script pages lying carelessly beside it.

“So, good news?”


	13. On the Rocks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, it's my preferred way to enjoy my favorite libation. But yes, I suppose it's an all-too-obvious title for where this chapter is going. This is me not caring...

Chris stared at the script pages, the corner touching his glass curling a bit in the moisture. He didn’t say anything for a long time. He decided a small smile would suffice.

“You looked quite surprised when she started talking, and this doesn’t look like a bad sign, either.”

He gestured to the pages and crooked his neck.

“Don’t worry, I imagine there’s a decent amount of confidentiality involved in you reading these pages, so I’ll leave you to it. Want another one?”

Chris shook his head and slid the pages back into the envelope. He needed to get out before the moment became more uncomfortable.

“Actually I think I should head out. I’ve got a lot to think about. I need to have an answer for them by tomorrow afternoon.”

“An answer, huh? Well I am going to interpret this all as good, if not great, news. Give me a second, I’ll be right back.”

Chris watched him help a few customers. He stood at the tap, slowly filling a glass with Guinness with one hand, his other hand tapping at the bright screen of his cell phone. Tom handed the glass to someone, took a card, then looked back at his phone. Smiling brightly in the light of the phone, he headed back to Chris.

“So, what if we discuss your good fortune over dinner tomorrow night? I got Drew to cover my usual shift.”

“You sure? I know how busy Friday nights can be.”

“Not your problem. They’ll be fine with two people, they’ll manage.”

Chris still hesitated. He knew he had to tell him. He would greatly prefer telling him somewhere quiet, somewhere intimate. Suddenly the earlier fears, the hesitation he’d felt in the beginning returned full force. He was afraid that the news wouldn’t affect Tom at all. Despite how close they’d become, even though their relationship seemed to have evolved beyond the sex, Chris suddenly feared that Tom wouldn’t care that he’d be disappearing for three months – so suddenly, and so soon after they’d met. He worried that the explosive chemistry between them was only really affecting him – a thought he’d assuaged some days ago, though he’ become quite good at hiding his apprehensions. 

“In which case, yeah of course, I’d love to.”

Tom grinned widely and traced a line down Chris’ fingers. 

“Goodnight,” he whispered intimately before walking away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chris spent the next day consumed with phone calls – accepting, quitting, cancelling, booking – almost everything was a step in the right direction; another step towards Vancouver. The last call he made that day was to home. He could hear the pride in his mother’s voice as he rambled on. He hadn’t spoken to her in weeks. He found himself going on and on about everything, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her about Tom, even when she asked if he’d been seeing anyone. 

His smile all but disappeared once he hung up the phone. Despite the sudden fortunate shift in his career, the reality was setting in. He needed to live up to a lot of expectations, but he was determined to prove himself. 

He looked around at the apartment. In the eleven months since he’d lived here, he had somehow managed to turn this slightly generic living space into a home. Most of his personal effects he’d leave behind in a storage space he’d rented for the next six months. Even the clothes he thought he’d pack would largely stay behind. His wardrobe had gone from the warm climate of Brisbane to the equally balmy Los Angeles. Three months in the autumn of Vancouver would require a different wardrobe altogether. 

Tom knocked on the door a little after seven. Chris still wasn’t completely dressed. Tom handed him a bottle of Jameson and smiled.

“I believe congratulations are in order. You told me you accepted their offer, so whatever that offer might be, this night definitely calls for a celebration.”

Chris smiled quietly and went to the kitchen for glasses and ice. He poured two drinks and held one out to Tom. 

“Thank you…for so many things.”

Tom winked from behind the glass and took a sip. He shrugged off his jacket and walked around the apartment as Chris finished dressing. 

“It’s funny, I’ve now been in this apartment a time or two, and this is the first time I’m really looking around. I probably shouldn’t think about what that says about us, should I?”

Chris stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror as Tom spoke and frowned. Now he was convinced that between the two of them, he would be the one more disappointed that their relationship was coming to an end. He finished his drink and turned off the light. He wasn’t happy with the face staring back at him. 

“Shall we get going, or would you care for another drink?”

Tom tinkled the ice in his empty glass and smiled at Chris. Chris returned the smile and handed his glass to Tom.

“Another drink then, we have a winner.”

Tom set the two empty glasses on the dining table. He walked over to the kitchen and picked up the bottle, his fingers circling the neck and tugging at it gently, a playful look in his eyes as he looked over at Chris, who had settled on the couch with a sigh. Bottle still in hand, he grasped both glasses, refilled the drinks between his fingers and walked to the couch, handing Chris the glass held by his ring finger. Chris drank down the entire glass, hoping the alcohol would ease the imminent conversation. He looked up to find Tom already refilling his glass.

“If you keep this up, we won’t be getting ourselves anywhere.”

Tom drank down the last of his whiskey and licked his lower lip wickedly. He set the bottle and glass down on the coffee table behind him and stood with his legs around Chris’, their knees touching. He took the glass from Chris’ hand and set it down quietly, bent his knees and straddled Chris on the couch. Chris’ hands clung tightly to Tom’s hips, pulling him in closer. He felt Tom’s cock, hard and ready, the heat between them intensifying with their kiss. 

“Can we just stay in?” Tom hissed.

Despite all the apprehension that was building in Chris’ mind, all he could do was smile and breathe Tom in. At no point had he been in greater peace than with Tom in his arms.

“We can do anything you want.”

He creased his hands through Tom’s hair and felt him shudder deeply.

“Hmm, I love that, so calming. If I wasn’t so keen on getting to other things, I’d want you to do that to me all night.”

“Maybe we can, at least for a while…”

Chris could feel the whiskey surging through him, settling in his empty stomach. He put his head down on the couch and pulled Tom off his waist, just enough to have him lie down next to him. He kissed at the back of Tom’s neck, nipping at his ear and jawline, listening to Tom’s breathing slow into a gentle hum. He struggled to hold on to Tom, all of him, and everything that had transpired between them. He circled his arms tightly around Tom’s thin waist, pressing him in closer, the feel of Tom’s body against his stirring his arousal. He heard Tom laugh softly and twine his fingers around Chris’. Tom craned his neck around to kiss him, slowly pushing his tongue into Chris’ eager mouth. Chris’s free hand found the space between Tom’s shirt and skin, his fingers trailing up and down his chest as their kiss deepened. His free hand trailed down, fingers pushing the elastic of Tom’s briefs, and found Tom completely erect. The softest touch met with an immediate reaction and edged Chris further. Taking Tom’s stiff cock completely in his hand, he tugged and grazed his nails against him, feeling Tom buck under his touch. Tom’s grip on his other hand tightened further, urging Chris on. He pressed against Tom’s body tighter; pushing his cock up and between Tom’s widening legs, the friction driving him almost mad. 

Tom broke the kiss and opened his legs wider, his fingers tightening around Chris’ as Chris continued to pump Tom’s cock. He felt Tom buckle into him, his hips writhing in rhythm to Chris’ hand. Only as he came did he release Chris’ hand, only to grab at Chris’ hair and tug, come dripping into Chris’ eager hand. They lay there together, both trying to catch their breath. Chris felt his grip tighten around Tom’s waist – definitely too tight, but Tom didn’t move or squirm or even make a sound. 

“I have to tell you something,” he whispered in Tom’s ear. 

“If you’re about to tell me that the thing between your legs is a roll of quarters, then I don’t want to hear it.”

“Always the joker…Are you ever capable of having a serious conversation?”

Tom laced his fingers through Chris’ once more and brought them to his lips.

“Sounds like we’re about to have one.”

“It’s about the movie offer. This is no doubt the greatest opportunity I’ve ever been offered. But it comes with a catch.”

“Don’t tell me you have to sleep with someone to get it, because I have no interest in sharing you.”

Chris couldn’t decide if Tom was kidding. He hesitated before continuing, his face buried deep in Tom’s neck as he spoke. He couldn’t even bear to look at the back of his lover’s head, much less his face.

“I have to leave…for Vancouver…for three months. They’ve offered me the next best thing to the lead role. I leave in a few days.”

He waited, his face still buried in Tom’s neck, listening to Tom’s breath return completely to normal. The silence stretched into a canyon between their tightly-pressed bodies.

“No.”

Tom was whispering, almost to himself. Chris waited, afraid to move.

“No,” was all he heard Tom repeat, before he stood up suddenly. He turned to face Chris, his eyes almost dead as he looked Chris in the eyes. He opened and closed his mouth several times before turning. He grabbed his jacket and threw open the door, not waiting to slam it shut as he walked out. 

He sat on the couch and watched him leave. He didn’t bother to get up, to chase him down, beg him to stay, to listen. What was the point? Of the possible reactions, he almost preferred this – watching Tom storm out – than disinterest. Almost. He slowly processed the passion in Tom’s reaction and hated that he actually preferred to see him walk out like this. Still, he hated that Tom was gone.

He listened to Tom’s car rev and skid away. It had rained more than he’d ever expected during his time in LA. He supposed he should get used to it. Vancouver in the fall would see a lot of rain.

Chris got up, picking up the bottle of whiskey as he crossed to the bedroom. Opening the closet, he absentmindedly tossed clothes into an open suitcase. Soon, his whiskey-blurred vision was amplified with tears. He crept towards the pillows and sheets that still smelled of Tom and cried.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bottle of Jameson still stood on his nightstand, uncapped from last night. He lifted it to his lips and took a deep drink. The bottle that was initially a celebratory gift – the type of gift to be expected from a bartender – had become a tonic. He was somewhat surprised to find a quarter of the amber liquid still in the bottle.

The next five days would include meetings with his agent, meetings at the studio and contract negotiations. He needed to get his shit together and focus. He abandoned the bottle in the kitchen, drank as much water as he could, and went to shower. He stepped out of the bathroom to discover he’d been packing nothing remotely useful to deal with the weather in Vancouver. He decided this project would have to wait and called his agent to schedule a meeting. When he hung up, he realized he was concerned about Tom.  
Later that night, he began to genuinely worry that Tom could gotten into an accident. He knew Tom well enough to know that Tom would have tried to transfer his passion and anger somehow. Chris called and texted, pleading to just hear back from him, just to know that he was alright, but he never received a reply. He couldn’t leave; how could he, without knowing that Tom hadn’t done something completely reckless? He grabbed his keys and raced downstairs, forgetting his jacket as he made his way out in the heavy rain. There was only one way to check on him – even if Tom wasn’t at the bar, surely one of his employees would have heard from him. He jumped in his car and realized he’d have to sell it – or just abandon it – at the moment he didn’t care which. He sped through the streets almost mechanically, the car driving the familiar route seemingly on its own. 

The Saturday night chaos of the bar was in full effect. Chris drove around for long minutes trying to find a place to park his car. Anxious and nervous, the bar being open was a sign that things were probably alright, but he needed to be sure. He ran the two blocks to the bar; stopping briefly for the bouncer who recognized him and let him in, and walked in to the most crowded he’d ever seen the bar. He pressed his way through the crowd until he had a view of the bar. He was there; everything about him looked as it usually did – except the full beard was gone. His prominent cheekbones were fully on display as he flashed easy smiles to all his customers. 

Chris waited several steps away from the bar, just long enough to determine if Tom would notice his presence. It didn’t take long. Tom’s job demanded scanning the crowd, and his gaze stopped dead when he saw Chris. Chris didn’t smile, or frown, or even look relieved. He simply returned Tom’s steely gaze, then turned and walked out. 

He hurried back to the car, anger and relief swelling in his brain. He listened for footsteps behind him in spite of himself. He wanted to look back and see Tom chasing him down. He refused to turn or slow his gait, knowing he would only be greeted by the wet sidewalk. He drove home, more slowly and deliberately as the weather outside turned into a full storm.


	14. 107 Degrees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it. For everyone who's read this far, for everyone's who's been so patient and incredibly encouraging, my sincerest thanks!!  
> This chapter (and of course the entire story) is inspired by "107 Degrees" by Citizen Cope. The link sends you to the original album recording. But the true inspiration comes from live versions where he's performed with Alice Smith. Youtube didn't have a great live recording, but it's absolutely worth a listen, because as good as the song is, the duet is earth-shattering.  
> Anyway, here's the link to the song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wy8I1JemdzU

Tom’s voice was almost strained.

“Yes. Absolutely.”

Chris couldn’t think of anything else to say. Tom hung up. The strangeness in Tom’s voice - it sounded almost like desperation - left Chris wondering, hoping, that he was the need of that desperation. He stood in his bedroom with the phone still to his ear. Tom had said nothing else, nothing about when he’d be over, or whether he’d want to go somewhere else instead. The phone rang as he was still staring at it. Someone was waiting to be buzzed in at the front gate. He didn’t even bother putting the phone to his ear. He pushed the key and heard the gate buzz through the receiver. He hung up and went to open the door. He walked passed his half-drunk beer sitting on the kitchen counter. Once he needed the liquid courage to brave Tom. Now all he needed was Tom. Tom, who he watched getting off the elevator, completely soaked; rain on his leather jacket, rain in his hair making the limp curls stick to his neck – surely it wasn’t raining that hard outside anymore.

Standing in the open doorway, Chris crushed his lips to Tom’s. He tasted of whiskey and cigarettes and rain. He was wet and shivering and the drops of rain collected on the scruff of his goatee wet Chris’ face as Tom kissed him. Chris had never seen him this way – almost vulnerable as he stood there, hands at his sides, Chris enveloping him completely.

“Come inside, come on. What’s wrong?”

Tom didn’t say anything. He allowed Chris to lead him inside, but he put his hands around Chris’ neck to keep kissing him. Chris attempted to talk, the words muffled and lost in the kiss. Tom was taking off his jacket, returning his rain-soaked fingers to Chris’ neck and hair. He pushed Chris further into the apartment, towards the bedroom. He pulled back long enough to tug at Chris’ shirt, the desperation so apparent as he struggled with the shirt.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on? I mean, I’m an idiot to try and get you to stop doing this, but I can’t… What’s wrong?”

“Stop talking and take off your fucking pants.”

Tom stopped in the living room long enough to kick off his shoes and step out of his socks. He was already shirtless. The rain had soaked through all his clothes.  
“What the fuck happened to you? It’s like you walked here or something. How long were you out in the rain?”

“Long enough to realize you can’t light a fucking cigarette in the rain. Long enough to realize I wanted to follow you the second you left. Now will you please stop talking and take off your god damn pants!”

Chris closed the distance between them and pulled Tom into the bedroom by the waist. His body was completely cold; he could feel Tom shivering. He wanted just to hold him, to make him warm, but he knew that wasn’t what Tom was after. He had to be honest, it wasn’t really all he wanted either. His skin still damp and smelling of rain, Tom looked so fragile to Chris. He ran his hands through Tom’s wet curls, and pressed his palms to Tom’s face, feeling the cut of his cheekbones on his fingers. But the urgency in Tom interrupted Chris’ exploration of Tom’s body. He pushed Chris’ hands away from his face and kissed him, biting his lips and tongue; Chris could feel the anger and desperation. He could also feel Tom shivering completely. 

Determined to care for this suddenly frail person, he pulled Tom further into the bedroom, unbuckling his belt in the process, and led him into the bathroom. Without waiting for comment, he turned the water on in the shower stall and felt the water spray between his fingers until he was satisfied with the temperature – just short of scalding. He looked over to Tom who had hardly moved, except to undress completely. Chris took his limp hand and encouraged him into the hot water. He watched Tom’s tall, thin frame shiver for a moment more before it finally relaxed. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the tile, breathing in the heat and moisture.

His eyes were still closed when Chris stepped in. He pulled Tom close and held him completely. He waited there, shielding Tom from the cold outside, from the excessive heat and humidity in the shower, and from the obvious pain. Chris knew then that they’d never discuss anything that transpired the night before, or tonight. He understood Tom enough to know that whatever had happened between them was not how Tom wanted it to unfold. But the connection between them was unmistakable, and Tom had committed to it in spite of himself. He wasn’t angry at Chris, he was hurt. And he was angry at himself for opening up to someone – anyone – because he didn’t want to face the repercussions. And now the repercussions were staring him hard in the face. 

Tom’s warmed, soft skin just begged to be touch. Chris bit down on his shoulder before he could help himself. He sucked at his shoulder, felt Tom’s cock stir between his legs as he slowly felt the metallic tang of blood reach his lips. He felt Tom’s tongue at his ear, then at his neck as he lapped at the trail of hot water mingled with sweat. Chris released his lips from Tom’s collarbone, licked at the spot of blood on his lips before pushing Tom’s mouth open to take in his tongue. He couldn’t believe how hard he was. Seeing Tom so vulnerable, knowing that his leaving was the main reason, was an unbelievable aphrodisiac. 

One hand firmly grasping Tom’s hair, he reached behind him and grabbed haphazardly for the items on the ledge. He heard the bottles knock to the ground in his haste. He broke the kiss, almost angry that he couldn’t get what he wanted without having to release Tom, and found the conditioner. He squeezed a dab of the slick liquid between his fingers and set the bottle down. Pressing his body flush against Tom’s he rudely pushed one finger in, heard Tom hiss loudly, then pushed in a second. Tom rolled Chris’ nipple between his fingers, squeezing harder as Chris pushed his way in deeper. He took one last hard look at Tom before pulling his fingers out. He reached his hands under Tom’s thighs and lifted him up completely, pushing his back roughly against the cold tile. Tom’s long legs wrapped around his waist, Chris pushed his cock into Tom, then pushed down on his shoulders. Pumping deep inside him, he wrapped his free hand around Tom’s leaking cock and tugged. Devoid of any consideration for Tom, he drove into him for long, hard minutes. He bit around Tom’s collarbone again as he came, refusing to slow his rhythm until he was completely spent. He didn’t care if Tom was sated. With one final deep push, he relaxed his hold on Tom and let him down. Tom’s breathing was rough and shallow, but he pulled Chris in for another kiss before Chris stepped out of the shower stall. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He stood for a long, quiet moment as he watched Tom dress. The clothes still somewhat damp from the rain, he watched Tom struggle with his jeans. Standing in the half-light of the bedroom, his silhouette seemed completely black to Chris. He pulled on his jeans and searched in his pockets for his keys. His eyes caught the remainder of the bottle of Jameson, all but abandoned on the nightstand. Without meeting Chris’ eyes, he lifted the bottle to his lips and took a drink. He shook it a little, an inch of whiskey swilling around at the bottom of the bottle, before setting it back down. 

Covered only in a towel that he clung to around his waist, Chris watched Tom move into the living room, step into his shoes, and grab for his leather jacket. He heard the sound of keys, and the briefest sigh from Tom’s lips before he heard the front door open and close. He didn’t listen for the car engine to turn on, or for the gate to open. Chris closed the door to the bathroom, shed the towel, and climbed back into the cocoon of the hot shower.

 

When Chris left the apartment for the last time a few days later, the open bottle of whiskey still sat on the nightstand, gathering dust.


End file.
